The Last Farewell Is Not A Goodbye
by MerridewLover
Summary: Denmark's final goodbye to Norway is not what it should have been. Norway doesn't think much of it, but in the final moments is when it really counts. Rated for blood/violence. Slight romance. Angsty DenNor. Intended oneshot. Twoshot if wanted;Slight Yaoi


**Author Note:** Heyy guys! Sorry, I know I should be working on my other stories... I have way too many. Grr me and my horrible mind that has too many ideas. But, I decided to write a (very sad) oneshot for one of my favorite (_Hetalia – Axis Powers_) pairings, DenNor! Or, as me and my best friend Rachael call it, DORWAY! 3 DenNor/Dorway is love, I can't live without them. (insert big cheesy smile)

Anyway, on to the oneshot!

_The Last Goodbye Is Not A Farewell_

**O`o'O**

Denmark peeked at the Norwegian country as they got ready for the upcoming battle. Norway was getting his clothes ready, fixing them to fit more comfortably on his body as he checked himself in the mirror. Denmark could see him pin his hair barrette in to keep some of his hair away from his face. The country whose hair defied gravity sighed quietly to himself. He was in love with his friend, who hated him in return. No matter how many times he confessed, it was always taken as a joke and he would end up getting yelled at by the Norwegian.

"Norge," he called for Norway, using the hated nickname for his blonde companion. Norway turned to him, scowling, but as he opened his mouth to yell at the Dane, he was already being engulfed by the Danish country's strong arms. He stood, shocked for a moment.

Denmark tightened his grip around his unexpected victim, and buried his nose deep into the smaller country's soft blonde locks. He breathed in his scent, savoring every minute of the feel of his one love's warmth in his arms. He wanted to protect him; he wanted Norway to stay here, at the house, and he'd fight for him—he didn't want Norway to get hurt. He took on a completely serious tone of voice as he said his three favorite words, meant only for the slightly younger boy in his arms.

"I love you."

That set him off, bringing Norway back into reality. He felt his face turn hot against his will as he pushed Denmark away from him, glaring up at the taller nation's handsome face.

"St-stop fooling around, you idiot!" Norway yelled, turning furiously away from the smiling, taller blonde. He walked outside of the house, getting ready for the battle, Denmark following—oddly—quietly behind him.

**O`o'O**

Denmark saw it. He saw it before it even began to happen.

He had had his axe in his hands, slightly bruised here and there from the light attacks his enemy could land on his skilled body. He had looked slightly to his left, and saw it. The beginning of an explosion. He wouldn't have done anything usually, but when he saw the blue of a familiar head of blonde, he had let one hand go of his weapon, and ran toward him. His blonde hair whipped back as the explosion began, and he gripped out frantically at the blonde who had noticed and was rooted to the spot.

"_Norway!_"

He grabbed Norway's arm, put himself in front of Norway, and threw them both onto the ground as he jumped, making sure to keep hold of his weapon. As he settled himself on top of the Norwegian country, he grabbed Norway's blonde head and pushed it into his chest as he shielded his love with his own body. Norway gripped the front of the Dane's slightly bloodstained coat, and squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the deafening thunder of the bomb.

Denmark slightly tightened his grip on Norway when he heard the explosion, and a minute after it ended, he instantly got up and ran back toward his enemies, leaving a very stunned and confused nation behind him.

_What...why did he do that?_

**O`o'O**

Norway had his weapon—a sword he had kept from back in his horrible Viking days—held in front of him, fighting off the slightly smaller enemies, as he himself was a smaller nation. Sweden, being almost as tall as Denmark himself, was fighting against the bigger enemies, cutting their power down one by one as he tried to protect the smaller countries. Norway worried he was pushing himself far too hard, and a thought ran past his mind so quickly, he had no time to stop it.

_I wonder how Denmark's doing, fighting on his own..._

His eyes widened as he thought about the constantly smiling nation that didn't seem so cheerful this morning, before the battle.

Sweden ran in front of one of the men running for Norway from behind. He had spotted him and quickly dodged the man in front of him who was sparring with him and ran to the other man, quickly clashing the sword out of his grasp. He stared at the man menacingly as his glasses glinted in the sun as he raised his own sword high above his head, and as the light left his square-framed glasses, his eyes shone with fury and sorrow as a memory passed his brain, fueling his determination to protect the blonde Nordic.

_Denmark and Sweden were currently sitting on a bench as the two older nations watched Iceland, Norway and Finland play together. Sweden stayed quiet, slightly awkward at 'hanging out' with the Dane, since they rarely did so. Sweden simply watched Finland as he smiled and played with his other small friends, even if Iceland wouldn't smile, and Norway wouldn't admit that he was also having a good time. Suddenly, Denmark sighed, and looked up at the sky, his eyes slightly dropping with a sorrowful hue in them. Sweden glanced at him through the corner of his eye._

"_Ne, Sve?" Denmark said, breaking the silence, his face set into one of no emotion. Sweden was taken aback, for he had never heard Denmark talk without at least a hint of cheerfulness in his tone. Sweden made a small noise to indicate he was listening._

"_Tomorrow... When we go into battle..." he trailed off, And Sweden stayed quiet, letting the taller nation continue without interruptions. But, what Denmark said confused the Swede in more ways than one._

"_Will you protect Norway for me?"_

_Sweden blinked a few times, finally turning to look at the Dane. Denmark continued to watch the bright sky as his mood plummeted down on him like a storm._

"_Why?" Sweden tested, still staring at his companion—despite the wars they had against each other—and refused to move his eyes away from him. "D'n't y'u 'lw'ys s'y y'u l'v' h'm?"_

_Denmark turned to him suddenly, brows furrowed slightly up at the ends, and he gave Sweden a sad smile. He chuckled sadly, closing his eyes as he continued to smile at the older nation._

"_Yes, I do... You know I do. I love him _so_ much, and I know what I have to do." Sweden continued to watch him. He was about to speak, when Denmark opened his eyes, his smile disappearing, leaving a pained expression on his normally cheerful face._

"_Wh't?" Sweden whispered, egging him to go on silently._

"_I know that if I try to protect him...if I try to protect Norge, he'll just end up pushing himself harder to fight, and..." he stopped for a minute, and Sweden heard the shaking in his breaths, and realized that the Dane himself was trembling slightly. "And I don't want to be the reason he ends up getting hurt." As he finished, Denmark looked down at his shaking hands that were gripping his coat. Sweden was honestly shocked at Denmark's answer, and set his hand on Denmark's shoulder, seeing the droplets of wet falling down his friend's face, eyes shut tight as he grit his teeth together. Sweden smiled softly._

"'_Co'rs' I w'll, D'n."_

_The drops fell faster._

Sweden sliced down on his opponent, right as Norway had glanced behind him. Two different rivers of blood fell from two different sides of the Swede. His enemy was now dead on the floor, his sword in his stomach through his back, but as he glanced up, he saw Norway lying on the hard ground, clutching his now rapidly bleeding arm. The man Norway was fighting held his sword high, about to cut down at the Norwegian country, white blade covered in dripping crimson blood. Sweden's eyes widened as he feared he would break Denmark's promise.

"_N'rw'y_!" he screamed, charging at the attacker.

**O`o'O**

The sound of metal clashing with metal could be heard as Denmark finally jumped back from one of the other men. His axe disconnected from the shorter man's sword, and a slightly taller man jumped at him from his side, and swung down just as he jumped out of the way. It just barely grazed his arm, cutting through the material of his coat and causing a sting in his forearm. He grit his teeth together, getting into his defensive stance. His axe was held in front of him, his back arched down slightly, elbows out, the metal of the sharp axe covering half his face as he smirked, showing his teeth. He charged toward both men, taking on both at the same time.

His axe connected with the shorter one's own weapon, and he felt the wind from his side, indicating his opponent's attack of swinging down. He quickly jumped to the side, axe still holding back the other man, and he felt another small sting in his left cheek. He could feel the blood already beginning to ooze down the side of his face, dropping off of his chin and down to the ground rapidly, and willed the pain in his arm to the back of his mind as the wound began to open further from lack of relaxing it.

He curled his fingers around the other man's sword, still using most of his strength to carry his axe without dropping it or creating an opening. He could feel the sweat trickle down his forehead, some of it mixing with his blood. He pushed back the man with his axe, and then swung at the other. He gripped his own weapon with both hands now, and just as he raised it to end the life of the man in front of him, he felt something on his back. His eyes widened, and he felt blood leave his slightly open mouth. He didn't have to look back to realize what had just happened.

The man he had pushed back had pierced right through his stomach with the pointed weapon. His head fell forward, and he felt his fingers let go of the axe, arms falling to his sides. Just as he raised his hand slightly to touch his wound—with the sword still in it—he saw a figure run at him. He raised his head in time to meet the eyes of his enemy who had his arms held back, sword ready. He opened his mouth slightly, and felt another pain, right at his chest, above the other sword.

His head fell forward, and his arm fell again. His eyes were wide, and he felt his body begin to tremble as the warmth left his body.

Both men around him took the swords out at the same time, spilling blood in every which direction. He coughed up slightly, blood now falling out of his mouth freely. The men left quickly to the battlefield, and Denmark fell to his knees, body unstable. He choked in a ragged breath, and felt his eyes beginning to close as grey dots danced before his eyes. The Danish nation fell to his hands and began to crawl slowly toward his fallen axe.

As he could only see a small slither of grey clouds and dull sky, he had one thought before his body went limp and he fell to the floor, in his own pool of crimson.

_Norway..._

The battle raged on.

**O`o'O**

Norway wandered around the big and little fellow soldiers, all scattered across the rocky field, dead. He traced the bandage wrapped securely around his arm. He looked back at Sweden, who was wrapping up all the survivors injuries. Finland was helping, and Iceland was the one currently getting his wounds taken care of. Norway turned back to the open field around him, red on almost every visible surface. He squinted as something _black_—not the color of welling up blood—caught his eye.

It was a person.

His mind went into alert, as he thought of the Dane, who he had not seen in over half an hour since the battle ended. He shrugged it off for a minute, thinking—_knowing_ that the arrogant twat couldn't have lost.

Then, when he looked closer, he saw blonde hair, but he couldn't see the face. It was turned slightly away from him. All he _could_ see was the man surrounded in a pool of blood. When he looked again at the man's head, he saw unmistakably wild hair, tips drenched in red.

His mind went blank, and he ran.

"_DENMARK_!"

His suspicion of who it was was clarified when he saw the forgotten axe, definitely Denmark's choice weapon.

Norway dropped to his knees, not caring that he was kneeling in the Dane's continuously falling blood. He took in the horrendous sight before him.

Denmark's face was almost fine, bruise wise. A bruise by his nose, and on his right cheek, near his chin. There was a long cut on his left cheek, still bleeding, but almost to a stop. The blood was falling over his chin, down his neck, and onto the ground, into the ginormous pool itself. There was blood falling over his lips and down his chin, neck and again, onto the floor. He gulped and looked down at Denmark's torso. There was a big—actually _two_ big, bloody gashes, one right in the middle of his stomach, the other above and slightly to the left of the middle one. He left hand was resting on his stomach, and Norway looked up his arm, to see another open gash on his forearm. He could hear the Dane's ragged breathing. He almost smiled as tears filled his eyes.

_He's breathing—__Å, Gud, he's still breathing! He's not dead,_ _takk_ _Gud!_

Norway grabbed Denmark's shoulders, shaking him violently.

"Denmark!" he called, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks like rivers into the ocean, "Denmark, please, wake up! Denmark, it's me, it's Norway, please, Den, please... wake up..." Norway felt his voice die, and his throat closed up, and he knew he couldn't say anything else, and almost gave up hope, when he saw Denmark's eyes open almost painfully.

"Denmark, Å, takk Gud, I thought you—" Norway was cut off, when he felt Denmark's bloodied hand touch his cheek. "Den...?"

"Norge..." Denmark whispered, voice raspy. "Is it...really you?"

"Yes!" he all but screamed, grabbing onto the Dane's coat, arms beginning to get soaked with blood.

"Norway, I..." Norway hurriedly cut him off.

"Just, hold on, I'll go and call Sweden, or Finland, or anyone, and they'll help you—" Norway stopped when Denmark shook his head and tightened his hold on his cheek. Norway automatically lifted his own, much smaller hand to rest on top of Denmark's own, which was rapidly getting colder.

"Norway, I..." he took in a breath, and Norway saw how Denmark's face contorted slightly in pain. "I really..._really_ love you..." Norway felt his heart wrench painfully as Denmark gave him one last smile. He took in one deep breath, and Norway felt his body go numb.

"Always."

Denmark's hand fell out of his and onto the ground, filled with red, almost black blood, splattering some onto Norway's uniform. Norway's eyes widened slightly, and he sobbed once, choking slightly when Denmark's head fell to the side, body lifeless.

He cried hard, harder than he ever had in his life, and knelt down into Denmark's unmoving chest, and he regretted not ever getting to hear the taller boy's heart.

The battlefield echoed in his raspy, loud voice calling out one name that would never be heard by the owner ever again.

***~End~***


End file.
